The Descent

They  reached a  newly  cut  ring  road  girdling  the  city,  and  left  behind  the  traffic  jam of cyclists  and  workers.  Picking  up  speed,  they  gained  a  view  of  the  enormous  hollow salt  dome  containing  the  colony.  It  was  life  in  a  bell  jar  here.   The   entire   vault, measuring  three  miles  across  and  probably  a  thousand  feet  high,  was  brightly  lit.  Up in  the  World,  it  would  be  approaching  sunset.  Down  here,  night  never  came.  Nazca City's artificial sunlight burned twenty-four  hours a day, Prometheus  on a caffeine jag. Except  for  a  catnap,  sleep  had  been  impossible  last  night.  The  group's  collective excitement  verged  on the childlike, and she was caught up in their  spirit  of  adventure. This morning, exhausted  with their imagining, they  were  ready  for the real thing.

Ali  found  her  fellow  travelers'  last-minute  preparations  touching.  She  watched  one rough-and-ready  fellow  across  the  aisle  bent  over  his  fingernails,  clipping  them  just so,  as  if  his  mortal  being  depended  on  it.  Last  night,  several  of  the  youngest  women, meeting for the first time, had spent the wee  hours of the morning fixing one another's hair.  A  little  enviously,  Ali  had  listened  to  people  placing  calls  to  their  spouses  or lovers  or  parents,  assuring  them  the  subplanet  was  safe.  Ali  said  a  silent  prayer  for them all.

The  buses  stopped  near  a  train  platform  and  the  passengers  disembarked.  If  it hadn't  been  brand  new,  the  train  would  have  seemed  old-fashioned.  There  was  a boarding  platform  trimmed  with  iron  rails  painted  black  and  teal.  Farther  along  the track, the train  was  mostly  freight  and  ore  cars.  Heavily  armed  soldiers  patrolled  the landings while workers  loaded supplies onto flatcars at the rear.

The  three  front cars were  elegant sleepers  with aluminum panels on the  outside  and simulated  cherrywood  and  oak  in  the  hallways.  Ali  was  surprised  again  at  how  much money was being plowed into development  down  here.  Just  five  or  six  years  ago,  this had  presumably  been  hadal  grounds.  The  sleeper  cars,  on  glistening  tracks,  declared how confident the corporate boards were  of human occupation.

'Where  are  they  taking  us  now?'  someone  grumbled  publicly.  He  wasn't  the  only one.  People  had  begun  complaining  that   Helios  was   cloaking  each  stage   of  their journey in unnecessary  mystery.  No one could say  where  their science station lay.

'Point Z-3,'  answered  Montgomery  Shoat.

'I've  never  heard of that,' a woman said. One of the planetologists, Ali placed her.

'It's a Helios holding,' Shoat replied. 'On the outskirts of things.'

A geologist started  to  unfold  a  survey  map  to  locate  Point  Z-3.  'You  won't  find  it  on any maps,' Shoat added with a helpful smile. 'But you'll see, that really  doesn't matter.' His nonchalance drew  mutters,  which he ignored.

Last  evening,  at  a  catered  Helios  banquet  for  the  freshly  arrived  scientists,  Shoat had  been  introduced  as  their  expedition  leader.  He  was  a  superbly  fit  character  with bulging  arm  veins  and  great  social  energy,  but  he  was  curiously  off-putting.  It  was more than the unfortunate face, pinched  with  ambition  and  spoiled  with  unruly  teeth. It  was  a  manner,  Ali  thought.  A  disregard.  He  traded  on  a  thin  repertoire  of  charm, yet  didn't  care  if  you  were  charmed.  According  to  gossip  Ali  heard  afterward,  he  was the  stepson  of  C.C.  Cooper,  the  Helios  magnate.  There  was  another  son  by  blood,  a legitimate  heir  to  the  Cooper  fortunes,  and  that  seemed  to  leave  Shoat  to  take  on more hazardous duties such as escorting scientists to places at the remote  edges of the Helios empire. It  sounded almost Shakespearean.

'This is our venue  for the next  three  days,'  he  announced  to  them.  'Brand-new  cars. Maiden voyage.  Take  your  pick, any room. Single occupancy if you like. There's  plenty of  room.'  He  had  the  magnanimity  of  a  man  used  to  sharing  with  friends  a  house  not really his. 'Spread out. Shower, take  a nap, relax.  Dinner is  up  to  you.  There's  a  dining car  one  back.  Or  you  can  order  room  service  and  catch  a  flick.  We've  spared  no expense.  Helios's way  of wishing you – and me – bon voyage.'